


Forget Me Not

by AstralAlmighty



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Established Relationship, F/M, Healing, Implied Sexual Content, Injury, Major Character Injury, Medicine, Mild Blood, No beta we die like Renfri did :(, Spy Jaskier | Dandelion, These two have a past and no I will not explain it, blink and you miss it - Freeform, sorry if this is inaccurate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:55:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27717124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstralAlmighty/pseuds/AstralAlmighty
Summary: After Jaskier is injured, Yennefer helps him heal. Feelings make themselves known.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	Forget Me Not

**Author's Note:**

> So, this started as an idea for Geraskier, and then I realized Geralt had no point whatsoever to the plot, so I made it Yennskier. Enjoy.

Yennefer was pissed.

To be fair, she was often pissed with Jaskier, but this time, she was pissed.

Mulling over these thoughts, Jaskier gripped the sides of bed.

“Fucking hell,” he gasped through the pain. He was lying on his belly; his back bleeding from the marks of a whip.

Yennefer didn’t respond, only continued to cut his shirt off.

“A ‘hello’ would suffice.” Jaskier said through gritted teeth. “Who taught you your manners?”

“Shut up.”

Fuck, she was really pissed.

***

Magic was spilling from her hands, thick and intoxicating. Suffocating was a good word for it.

He inhaled, exhaled, and repeated. Inhale, exhale, repeat. Inhale, exhale, repeat.

Breaking out of his trance, Jaskier realized the blood was no longer flowing from his wounds. It stained the bed and his back, likely Yennefer’s nightdress, but he had stopped bleeding.

Truly amazing, the works of magic. 

A few seconds later, the magic died down, and she spoke, “I stopped the bleeding, but I can’t handle much else with my magic.”

She touched his side, breathing hard from her exertion. “You’re going to need a lot of stitches. It’ll take a while.”

Jaskier grunted, the wounds on his back stinging sharply.

“Don’t move, you’ll reopen something.”

Another grunt. 

Yennefer turned to grab the disinfectants and cloths. “What happened this time?” Her tone was clipped, but curious. 

So, she was angry, but not super angry.

“A banquet,” he breathed, “Some lord recognized me-I guess I played for him once-and he was quick to accuse.”

She was tense, not daring to make eye contact. “Accuse?”

“I mean, he wasn’t wrong, but I certainly wasn’t the most suspicious character there.”

“Right.”

“Oh please, it’s far easier for a server to poison.”

“Yes, because everyone suspects the server.” Her voice wavered.

“Exactly.” They lapsed into silence, too tired to continue a conversation.

She returned with a drink, some painkiller, and lifted his chin. It was sweet and her hands were warm, stark contrasts to the bitter blood in his teeth and cold air on his back.

“Who died?” She asked, turning back for the discarded thread. Her eyes refused to meet him, but her tone demanded answers.

“A Nifgaardian knight,” he uttered, trying to understand her newfound curiosity. “He was boasting about being right on the tails of the White Wolf and lost princess.”

“Well, was he?”

“Too close for comfort.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, and then she hesitated, revelation floating behind her eyes. “Was it an execution?”

When Jaskier turned his head, he could see out the curtains. The moon was bright and framed by clouds. A few stars poked through the layers.

It was later than Jaskier had thought. He recalled it being sunset when he entered the hall and moonrise when he opened the portal. On instinct, his hand touched the runes tattooed into his opposite wrist. He’d already thanked Yennefer for it, but it had saved him countless times.

“Jaskier?”

“Ah, right, well... you see, what happened was-“ He faltered; her purple eyes glaring daggers. 

He sighed, “I believe they wanted to hang me, but they put me in a cell for the night, that’s when I opened the portal.”

Her eyes softened, but her face was unreadable. “Why didn’t they wait until the morning to whip you? Would’ve made a big spectacle.”

He shrugged as best as one can while lying on a bed. “I’m not sure, heat of the moment? I was a big show for the nobles.”

She nodded, her eyes dragging over his back, before turning back to the table.

The wood was cluttered with first aid products and drinks of every kind. Some were painkillers, some were magic, Jaskier could only recognize a few. 

“Thank you again for the runes,” he said softly.

Her back was to him, preventing him from reading her face. “Was it as tiring as last time?”

He smirked, “Tiring enough, you never warned me how much opening these would exhaust one.”

She laughed, “I don’t know, you’re just as chatty.”

He grinned, tilting his head to better watch her travel through the room.

When she returned to the bed, Yennefer gave him another drink. 

“This will help you heal, it’s a new concoction,” she said, “Triss helped last time she was here.”

It was bittersweet and had hints of salt, probably for flavoring. Replacing the bowl on the bedside table, Yennefer stepped right up on the bed and over Jaskier, straddling his hips with her thighs.

“Well, I can remember a time when you wouldn’t even have-oh fuck!” Jaskier cursed as a cloth soaked in alcohol was wiped down his back.

A vicious swipe went directly down one of his cuts, attempting to dislodge the dirt and grime. Jaskier cried out, and Yennefer grabbed his shoulder, her fingers tense and tight. 

Jaskier inhaled, regaining his composure.

Yennefer continued cleaning. Jaskier gritted his teeth and dug his fingers into the wood.

Her clipped voice broke the air. “Considering the fact that you’re going to stay here for at least a week, I’m letting you know now you have to make dinner at least once.”

“I-“

“No buts.”

“I can’t stay that long Yen,” he gasped, “You know that.”

“You can’t protect us if you’re dead.”

Jaskier couldn’t find a good response to that, and he kept silent, grinding his teeth in time with her cleaning.

Then Yen began the deeper cuts, and for a few minutes, it took everything Jaskier had to not scream. At one point, she jammed a piece of leather in his mouth.

By the end of it, Jaskier had tears in his eyes and cracks in his teeth.

There would be more scars to match the others, the ones Yennefer had healed time and time again. He inhaled deeply, disinfectant and blood mingling in the air.

“I need needle and thread, lots of it,” Yennefer muttered. Jaskier could feel her eyes boring into his back, assessing the marks.

She paused, and after a moment, rested her hands on Jaskier’s shoulders. She whispered in his ear, “You can’t keep doing this.”

Spitting out the leather, he snapped, “Watch me.”

Her hands tensed. “No, I’m not going to watch you throw away your life like it’s nothing.” Her gentle tone was gone.

“You don’t get to choose that.”

“What made you think you’re not worth anything?”

“A few things, would you like them chronologically or alphabetically?”

Yennefer sighed and left to retrieve the needles and thread.

Turning his head to watch, she perching on a chair by the bed. Threading the string, she said, “You would be missed.”

“But you and others would live.”

“You might consider that worth it, but I don’t.”

He grunted again, “We think very differently.”

“I don’t want you to fucking die Jaskier!” she snapped. She sounded angry, but her face betrayed her. 

She looked desperate.

“Well maybe then you and others would have fucking chances at life!” he retorted.

“What’s the point if you don’t have one!?”

“I don’t know!” Jaskier slumped and pressed his face into the pillow. 

A pause. 

“No,” she snapped, “You know the point to all of this, I know it too, we just won’t say it out loud.” 

Before he could respond, Yennefer returned to straddling his back.

Yes, he knew exactly why. She knew exactly why. 

Would either of them speak it? No. 

Why? 

I don’t know, real love is different than poetic love, for one thing. 

***

Some time later, Yennefer stopped, even though his wounds were only partly stitched up. Leaning over his back, she placed her hands on his shoulders, and rested her forehead against his hair.

“Promise me. Promise me that you’ll live through this war.”

Jaskier pushed himself to his elbows, crossed one arm over to rest his hand on hers.

“I promise.”

She squeezed his shoulders, “Swear it.”

“I swear.”

“You have to follow through with that.”

“Yennefer, I promise.”

So softly, almost too softly, Yennefer whispered, “Please don’t lie to me again.”

“I promise,” he murmured, barely audible.

She inhaled and pulled away, focusing on his back. 

He had hurt her, he knew, but he couldn’t bring himself to apologize. 

A lie wouldn’t make her feel better. 

It didn’t take long for Yen to finish stitching. Not moving from her position, she began rubbing a salve into his back.

***

Heavy bandages, soup, and another drink later, he was back on the bed. His back fucking hurt.

Yennefer leaned over, pressing a kiss into his head. She turned to leave. 

Jaskier’s hand shot out, grabbing her skirt. A shot of pain sparked through his shoulder. Mother of gods that hurt.

She knelt, taking his hand in hers. He leaned over as far as he dared and she met him in the middle. They kissed softly, not daring to move.

Breaking apart, she rested her forehead against his. A sliver of moonlight lit up her hair, and Jaskier silently remarked her beauty. That would make a nice poem, one she might appreciate.

That would be a good poem to send her when he was out, one that would tell her he’s still alive.

Breaking the silence, Yennefer spoke, “You’ve been fighting for such a short time, fighting for me, for Triss, for Cintra, for people you don’t know, for people you don’t even care about.”

She inhaled, “You’ve fought so much, and I think it’s enough.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but her fingers pressed up against his lips, silencing him.

She chuckled at his offended expression. Reaching up, she brushed his bangs from his forehead. They had grown long, long enough to hide his eyes.

She had told him once, during a morning after, that she missed seeing his eyes. It was almost enough for him to cut his hair, almost.

“Stay here for a while,” she murmured. Her eyelids fluttered shut as she kissed his knuckles, an apparent lack of makeup gracing her.

She looked beautiful.

“With me.” She added, averting her gaze.

His heart stuttered at her words. She looked sad, scared even.

Who was he to refuse her heart when laid out for him to devour?

Who was he to hurt her when he had already done so a thousand times?

But who was he to stay, when her life was on the line?

Blinking out of his reverie, he pressed a kiss into her knuckles, whispering softly, “I can try...”

She looked hopeful. “Take a break from Nifgaard, hide out here... maybe for the rest of winter.”

Two months. Two months away from the war. Two months away from the fighting and killing and bloodshed. Two months with Yennefer.

Gods, that sounded glorious.

“Yeah, maybe.” He smiled. Maybe, just maybe, he could see her reaction to the poem, instead of imagining it.

She smiled, hope and joy and sadness all mixed into one face. She kissed his cheek, wished him good night, and left the room.

He watched her leave, his bloodstains stark red against her cream nightgown. Her purple eyes glanced back, as if to check he was still there.

Fuck, he wanted to stay. 

***

The moon was much higher, out of sight from the window. 

It didn’t hurt as much. He’d probably be alright by the morning. Well, healthy enough to leave.

If he was going to leave.

When he was going to leave.

He wanted to stay, he did, but Nilfgaard was getting closer and closer. Their soldiers were becoming more prevalent, and it wouldn’t be long until the army was here. 

Sodden may have stopped them for a time, but a cut in the thread can be retied. They were coming, and she was in danger. They all were in danger.

If Yen got hurt, he didn’t know what he would do. Geralt and Ciri aside, she was his first and foremost priority.

He hadn’t even seen Geralt since the dragon hunt, nor Ciri since her tenth birthday. 

His loyalty, though, had yet to waver.

Yennefer would call him foolish and stupid, as she had before. 

But... their safety would make it worthwhile, would it not?

Yennefer’s survival would help him see another day. 

***

When Yennefer returns to Jaskier’s room, hours past sunrise, she will not find him.

She will not be surprised, but she will be sad.

She will be angry, but she will not follow him.

She will turn to the window, searching for some sign. And there, she will find a note and some flowers.

On the note, there will be a poem, hastily written and smudged with dried blood. It will not be his best work, but it will still be from him.

She will keep that poem, longer than any of the others. She will claim there is no sentiment.

The flowers will be tied with a small piece of bandage. They will be blue, the gentle blue of forget-me-nots, an unspoken message woven into their name.

She will keep those flowers until they die, and she will not forget the message.

She will remember his name, his lips, his words. She will remember his cries, his tears, his sorrows. She will remember his smiles, his laughter, his touch. She will remember him. 

She will remember because she refuses to forget.

And life, as it does, will go on.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
